


Why Do I Bother?

by DregranEntropy



Series: Morte Silenziosa backstory [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Death, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DregranEntropy/pseuds/DregranEntropy
Summary: A boy, raised to be a killer, wonders why he bothers with life...





	1. Part One

My first memory is pain. There’s a face, round, beautiful, homey, safe. It’s white, features gaunt, mouth open, eyes drooping, tears present. A hand reaches for me. I can’t move. My muscles burn, but I can’t grab the hand. A black metal gate closes as the face and hand fade away in the distance. Red spills from behind, like dropped paint, slowly covering my vision, and I turn.

I haven’t told anyone I remember this. They would kill me, as I’m not allowed to feel emotion. I know this because of the instructor. He has told us, day after day, not feel fear, hate, happiness, sadness, empathy and love. This memory makes me feel warm. It’s what I imagine love is.

It’s been 5 years, 7 months, and 6 days since this happened, I think. Given how fragmented the memory is, I was a few months old. The emotional attachment I have means the memory is of someone I know, and the only person I would know at that age is my own mother.

I know I was taken away as a child. All of us were. My mother died after, and I assume the other boys, my brothers, had the same situation. I don’t think any of them remember their mothers, though. That’s the only thing we can hold onto; we’re not even given names.

“Seven, step forward.” I move from the line with one big step. We are naked in a shower room, being measured and prodded by the instructor, a thinner man behind him taking notes. I return to the line and my brother next to me, Eight, puts himself forward.

Eight is slightly taller than me, and has more bulk than I do. He’s two years older, the closest to my age. Twelve is the oldest, at 12 years old. They were all here before I was, in this facility, but we’ve grown up together. I only have the one memory without them.

The instructor tells us to stand straight, and then lectures us about the importance of detachment, again. He says we are machines. We don’t feel. We don’t think. We just _do_. I disagree. There’s more to life than this. Where did the instructor come from? Who made this facility? What was he like before it was here? The memory of my mother means I’m from the outside.

Something hits me in the stomach. It was heavy, knocking me down. I keep my breathing consistent, and stand, returning to line. I’m staring at the instructor’s belt buckle. He reprimands me for not replying when he gives an order.

I bark, “Yes sir! Sorry sir!” He grabs me by the throat and lifts me up. It doesn’t bother me anymore, so I keep my features devoid of anything.

He throws me down, my right arm twisting at the elbow, rotating, bending a little too far in the wrong direction. I return to the line, repeating my phrase, agreeing that I’m lucky my punishment was easy. My elbow and stomach are throbbing with pain. It makes me want to puke. I must keep still. I can’t show any sign of injury or weakness, as that means death.

We march off to another room, and allocate ourselves among gym equipment. I manage to complete twenty circuits without vomiting, which I consider an achievement. After water and energy pills, we move into another room, dividing into groups of two to spar. I’m partnered with Eight to start with.

Eight’s physique is sharp. He has toned arms, legs, chest, and back... His jaw is defined, despite being young. Green eyes and slight dimples... I’ve always seen him as a brother, as a role model. I’m happy I’m partnered with him. He catches my eyes looking him up and down and shakes his head.

The instructor says to begin, and we do our routine of attacking and defending. Each time I block with my right elbow, it hurts. The joint is swelling, and Eight notices. He avoids hitting the same spot, aiming much lower down my arm, almost at my wrist.

“Stop.”

We step away from each other. My stomach hurts even more now, and my arm is frozen. I can’t straighten it. The instructor moves between us, facing Eight. He shouts, punching him in the head. He calls Eight stupid for breaking the routine, forcing him to apologise.

We rotate partners and continue with the routine, each of my brothers mouthing “sorry” as I wince every time my elbow makes contact. When we finish, we move back to gym equipment, which hurts my elbow even more. I feel my muscles starting to tear.

At the end of the day, before our last meal, we line up for injections and health assessment. Three female nurses tend to each of us individually. When they reach me, I observe their faces, ignoring the alcohol rub and needle in my left arm. They show nothing, not a single emotion. While one nurse replaces the needle several times, taking blood and administering drugs, another squeezes each part of my body.

Her fingers are soft and gentle. She reaches my right elbow, now swollen thrice its normal size, and I see a flicker of sadness in her eyes as she looks down. The instructor and the nurses can’t always hide their emotions, I’ve learned.

She begins to rub a cold cream onto my skin, and the swelling reduces instantly. She moves my arm, testing the joint before pinching it. The third nurse comes over with a needle, and pushes it into my other arm. She is older than the other two, face drooping from age, and guilt in her features. Then the nurses move on.

When they reach Twelve, at the end of the line, the instructor walks over to him, grabbing his head violently, making him adjust his footing. The instructor shouts: “Do not feel emotion! Do not fall to desires!” He pulls Twelve to his knee, and then tosses him on the ground. The nurses leave.

I didn’t see what, but I guess he noticed the guilt too and reacted. Twelve gets up, slowly, and turns in this direction. His cheeks are red, and he looks down, but then remembers to look up. He is 12 years old, so he’s the tallest and most muscular. I will end up like him.

He shifts his legs and I notice why he was out of line. The drugs suppress sexual desire, but encourage hormone and body growth. They don’t always work, though, as evident in Twelve. Showing emotion is a sign of weakness, and that means death. Showing sexual desire is worse.

“Seven,” the instructor calls me forward. I step out of line and stop in front of him. He hands me a gun. “Kill him.” I grab the gun and walk over to Twelve. He gets down on his knees, his head reaching my chin. He looks at me, eyes deep green. He looks lonely. Now that he’s dead, he doesn’t hold in his emotions, and tears start to well up in his eyes.

I place the gun against his head and squeeze the trigger. Twelve falls, and I hand the gun back to the instructor, returning to the line. He doesn’t have to deal with the instructor anymore. He is free of this place, free of this world. We didn’t choose how we started in this world, and we won’t have a choice at the end. If death is the only choice we have, then I will kill all of my brothers so they don’t have to make that choice.


	2. Part Two

“Seven, step forward.”

I obey. I reach the instructor’s chin now. He measures my body and takes note of muscle mass, weight, height, body hair growth; everything about me is recorded. I exist on the clipboard the man behind him is holding.

I return to line and Eight is measured. It’s just the two of us now. We killed our brothers, for their sake. They are free, and we bear their burdens. Eight is like me—he knows what he has to do to survive this place, and he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer.

We move to another room and start to spar, much more rigorously than previous years. As we contact each other, I can’t shake this desire to keep touching him. It’s been building for the past 45 days. He grabs my leg and throws me, and I roll, ready to block his follow up kick. He instead aims a punch under my arm and into my chin.

I fall back and lay on the ground. An excited feeling is building in my stomach; a kind of hunger I’ve never felt before. His punch didn’t hurt, but I continue to lay still. I am 14 years old, and he is 16. Twelve was the first of us to show any sexual arousal, and that was when he was 12. Is this what I’m feeling now?

My heart is pumping faster. I need to calm down. If I just lay here and think of something else... my earliest memory... the one of my mother. I know now that she sold me for money. She wasn’t paid, instead killed. The organisation manipulated her into giving up her only child. I can’t forgive them for that.

The instructor’s cold hand grips my bicep as he pulls me up. I stand, and he punches me in the stomach. He swears when he scolds us now. He’s also more violent. I’ve noticed a faint grin when he hits us. I _knew_ he didn’t hide his emotions.

He punches me again, and again, and again. I tense my stomach as he hits, so it doesn’t really hurt. It seems to anger him that I’m able to read his movements. He grabs my wrist and turns me around, forcing me down onto my knees with one arm behind my back. He grabs the top of my shoulder and starts to bend it back, threatening to break it.

I open my mouth to apologise, as per usual, but I don’t. The words don’t come out. He pushes my arm a little further, saying he didn’t hear me. I can use magic now, and I’m physically stronger than before. Maybe if I kill him here, both Eight and I can escape.

I click my fingers, igniting a spark and erupt my body in flame. The instructor curses and jumps back. I stand fully and face him, frowning. He can’t touch me like this. I can last three hours before passing out, so I’ll handle him in two and then leave with Eight.

Eight shakes his head at me. He doesn’t approve of this. I feel something huge push me back. I took my eyes off the instructor for a second, but that was all it took him to regain control. I may be stronger, but he has more experience in real combat. I crash into the wall, able to keep my balance. The instructor isn’t battle ready, so I charge.

Something wraps around my left leg and pulls me up before I can look back at it. Cotton threads cover my leg, wrapping around until it’s enveloped. They don’t stop there, covering my torso and eventually my face.

I can’t see anything, but I feel a fist connect with my right eye, then cheek, then throat. Each blow vibrates in my head until the noise becomes a stinging in my eyes. I lose count of the punches. I remember the look on Eight’s face, one of disappointment. What did he want me to do? Let us both die here?

 

* * *

 

The scent of burning wood fills my nose. I am standing in a burning barn, with my mother. This is a dream I’ve had before.

We watch the fire dance over hay and up the walls. We are hugging. Nothing can hurt us. The fire comes closer, so I reach out and touch it. It’s warm, just like mother. I look back at her, but she’s gone.

The fire forms a circle around me. I step through it, and it doesn’t hurt. I lay in the fire, my clothes turning to ash instantly. The fire comforts me, consumes me, makes me part of it. It replaces the pain in my chest with warmth.

My cheek is warmer than the rest of me. It’s throbbing, already swollen. The fire dies down.

My eyes are closed. I can’t smell burning timber anymore. Pain spurts across my face again, from the same cheek. I carefully open my eyes.

Someone I don’t know is in front of me. He has blonde wavy hair, tanned skin, a light beard, dressed in a black suit with a grey tie. My arms are feeling heavy and sore. My hands and feet strung up so I form a cross-shape. Something hits my cheek again, and instead of turning away, I resist and glance to the right.

The instructor is there, a few metres away, holding his palm up to me. He pulls his palm back, and then motions it forward, all the while it faces me. I hear a clapping sound as something invisible hits me, my cheek involuntarily twitching. This is Elemental magic.

He smirks. The blonde man must have done something, because the instructor stops and adjusts his shoulders. I look straight forward again, and there’s another person next to the blonde man. He looks older than the blonde man does. He’s wearing a purple robe, with a hood covering black hair. The robe has a gold trim, with intricate swirls of gold over the purple fabric.

The man extends a hand, pointing at my cheek, pushing his finger into my skin. He pulls back and does it twice more. He pulls back his hood and I see his features. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like this man holds my life in his hands. Just by the look on his face, I feel sick in my stomach, and my whole body aches, as if I’m a mouse in front of an owl. He glances to the instructor, and then meets my eyes.

I’m scared.

“How old?” he says, asking the instructor, still looking at me, and resuming poking my cheek. His voice has an edge to it, one that doesn’t seem human. Each time his finger pushes into my skin, it feels like it goes in deeper.

“Fourteen years, seven months and twenty-four days, my liege.”

“Assignments?” the old man looks away, intent on poking other parts of my face.

“Three-hundred and ninety-five completed, my liege.”

The man stops poking me, pauses, and says “Interesting.”

He touches my stomach, cloth wrapped around my torso and limbs. The man turns to the instructor, finger still on my stomach.

“Did you harm him?”

“Yes, my liege, but only to discipline.”

He looks back at me, pushing hard with his finger. Is he going to kill me? The man frowns, and then pulls his finger away. He keeps looking at me.

“Kill him, Astuzia,” he says.

It’s hard to breathe with the cloth wrapped around me. It feels tighter. The blonde man, Astuzia, is going to kill me.

I turn away and close my eyes. If this is where I die, I don’t care.

Someone grips my chin. They make me look forward, so I open my eyes. The man is holding me and Astuzia watches on. I glance to where the instructor was standing... there’s a pool of blood, his body on the floor, limbs in awkward positions. He’s been decapitated. The order wasn’t to kill me.

“Look, child,” the man says. I can feel his breath on my left cheek. “This is what the evil of the world has created: men like him, men who are not worthy. They control it. I want you to kill for me, for a greater cause. I want you to create a world without killing. You are the only one who can do it.”

He lets go, and walks away. The cotton wrapped around me unthreads and dissipates, and I fall to my hands and knees.

Astuzia pulls me up, rotates me around, and pushes me through a doorway, down a hall and into another room. He closes the door without a word.

This is a bedroom. It is huge, with drapes to the ceiling and bedposts just as high. There’s a girl standing opposite the bed, fair-skinned and red-haired. Her eyes are brown, looking me up and down. She holds out a hand.

“Noemi,” she says, smiling.

Who is she? She is muscular, like me, and she’s naked too. She lowers her hand and her smile disappears.

“I guess not,” she says, walking around the bed. She is the same height as me. She grabs my hand, and shakes it. She’s smiling again. She is an assassin. That I can tell.

“Noemi,” she says again, smiling. Up close, I can see light freckles on her cheeks, and the softness of her lips. “This is when you tell me your name.”

She drops my hand and rubs my stomach. Her fingers are light on my skin, gently pressing the contours of my muscles... I grab her wrist and push her away. This doesn’t feel right. I need time to think about what the man in the purple robe said, and I need to get back to Eight. The girl twists from my hand and slips her fingers between mine.

“Have you not been told your name yet?”

She pulls my hand up to her chest, pressing it between her breasts. Her other hand caresses my swollen cheek. I feel safe around her. She continues to rub my cheek, but then pulls away and sits on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she says.

I just look at her. “About your cheek and what you’ve been through. We’re going to get married, after all.”

Of course, she is my planned wife. The organisation will plan my whole life, and I’ll continue to be an assassin. I’ll have children with this girl, Noemi, and they will become assassins. This is the cycle am part of. I don’t want any of this.

I sit down next to her, looking back at the door. She puts a hand on my thigh. “You can tell me anything,” she says. “I won’t tell them.”

I can tell her anything... “He wants me to create a world without killing,” I say. My eyes sting; I’m crying and I didn’t even notice. “He told me...”

I choke, and the dam opens. I killed my brothers, one by one, executing them for showing emotion or making a single mistake. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was forced into this life. I don’t want to bare these burdens. I can’t... I can’t do it. I can’t do this.

Noemi rubs the back of my neck, and tells me everything is going to be okay. Is it really going to be okay? Can I really create a world where I don’t have to kill anyone? She rubs my thigh as well. She knows her life is set out in front of her, but she’s embracing it. She wants to live out the life they’ve given her. She wants to continue the cycle.

I nudge her hand off my leg and shrug to make her other hand drop. I shuffle back on the bed and turn to face her. Her features are soft and round. I see no ill intent in her eyes. I can tell her anything.

“Do you think one person can change the world?” I ask. She puts a hand on my non-swollen cheek. “No,” she says, cupping my face in both hands, “ _Together_ we can change the world.” She closes her eyes and leans towards me, pushing her lips out. As we are both on hormone drugs, we are already sexually mature. I don’t want to do this, though. This isn’t why I killed my brothers.

I pull away again and stand. Noemi gently puts a hand on my rear. “What do you think?” she asks. I look back at her, and she is smiling.

Can one person change the world? Can one person create a world without killing? Can I do that for my brothers? “I suppose not,” I say, sitting back down and turning away.

She walks on her knees over the bed, and gets behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “I think if you work with someone close to you, anything is possible,” she says, lightly rubbing my skin.

I don’t reply, and she continues to massage my shoulders. Eventually, I speak. “I... killed my brothers... for nothing.”

“Not for nothing; to create a world without killing, like you said.”

I stand up and walk away. This doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to follow this path. I don’t like the idea of my life being laid out for me. I’m not going to create a world without killing for that stupid man...

Noemi gets off the bed and wraps her arms around my chest. “And you don’t have to do it by yourself—”

I pull forward and push Noemi away. I don’t want her help. The only person I want to be with is Eight.

“Don’t follow me,” I say as I open the door and enter the hallway, walking back to the room Astuzia ushered me from.

There’s no one here. There’s no other doors leading to this room.

The room is bare. There’s nothing on walls, no windows, no furniture. This room has no function. I return to the bedroom with Noemi, with her sitting on the bed, smiling at me like she was waiting for me.

She doesn’t say anything as I sit next to her. She doesn’t touch me as I fall back onto the covers and close my eyes. Why is it like this? I’ve killed everyone close to me. There’s only Eight left. Will I kill him too? Then I will be alone...

I feel Noemi’s hand caressing my stomach. She uses her whole hand to rub my chest, up to my neck, then moves back down to my groin.

I open my eyes and stand up. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to live anymore. My eyes ache, my stomach is heavy, and my cheek throbs. I don’t hear Noemi stand. She wraps her arms around my torso again, and I don’t resist.

Is this the life I’m destined to live? Is this destiny? I close my eyes as they start to water. Noemi puts her cheek against my neck and sways. I place my hands over hers. Is this it? Why do I bother? This is how it’s going to be.

Noemi walks me back to the bed, and we fall on it together. She moves her hands up and down my body. She moves out from under me and I open my eyes to round face and soft lips. She leans forward, eyes closed, lips puckered, another attempted kiss. I don’t resist, closing my eyes again.

I feel her lips press against my own. She’s so soft and warm. I feel myself inch my head up to make more contact as she pushes down. She breathes on my lips as she pulls back, breaking our connection. I want more.

I place my arms around her body. Noemi’s lips touch mine again, but with fire. I picture sparks on fresh wood, heat slowly building, the chance for an explosion of fire rising. I feel her lips press firmer and open and close. They’re so soft yet so demanding. I follow her movements, and soon she pushes her tongue into my mouth.

Fire rises from my lower stomach, soaring up and through my arms, pulsing into my lips. I raise my head up and pull Noemi closer, opening my mouth and lathering her tongue with my saliva. This feels so natural, but something is wrong...

My heart is going to burst out of my chest. There’s tension in my stomach. Something is pulling upwards, making my abdominal muscles tighter. My breathing is now short and sharp. I feel my hands rubbing up and down her back, Noemi rocking back and forth over my body, now pressed against me.

Her breasts rub against me. The fire in my body is swept away with a breeze of cold air. Suddenly Noemi feels heavy against me. What am I doing with my hands, rubbing her back and pulling her towards me? I move my hands to her armpits and lift her off me, pushing her to the side.

I stand. I feel cold. What was I doing? I didn’t kill my brothers to do this. Noemi touches my arm, but I shrug her off. I hear her sigh and I look away.

“It’s fine if you’re not ready. You are only fourteen.” I feel her get off the bed. “I’ll tell them you’re not ready,” she says, leaving the room with the door ajar. The feeling in stomach and the excitement the ran through me... I remember feeling it once before. When Eight and I sparred.


	3. Part Three

Sergio. That’s my name, apparently. We’re told our names when we turn eighteen, trusted with the truth finally. I already know what happened to my mother. I don’t trust the organisation. Eight, Lorenzo, apparently, doesn’t trust them either, but he insists we don’t make a fuss.

Our combat training is far more intense, based on real situations instead of sparring. Disarming people and breaking bones is second nature to me. I’ve also developed a magical technique that lets me kill people with a single touch. Maestoso, the old man, says I will become a valuable asset.

I hope to avoid that fate. My entire life, I’ve been fed and sheltered by the organisation. I’ve been trained into a killing machine. I know this but I have no power to stop it. I don’t care about the people I’ve killed. They’re faces aren’t covered anymore, but it doesn’t matter to me. If I keep doing as they say, I’ll be free.

Lorenzo and I train without supervision now. We are still measured and recorded. With years of practice, we each have our own special techniques with magic. The hormones have stopped, too.

“Seven.”

I’m still referred to as a number by the organisation’s staff. I step towards the whimpering man on the ground. I grab a gun on the desk and shoot him, point blank, in the head. It’s a fatal shot. As ordered, I return by Lorenzo’s side before he’s called up to kill someone else.

I have to look away when he walks. I can’t bear to look at his naked body anymore. I feel an urge of excitement, one similar to our special moment a few years ago. After the hormone injections finished, I’ve felt so much more aroused.

Lorenzo returns beside me and I stop forward again. There’s a woman in front of me, bruised and bleeding. She was likely tortured for information and is now being used as training for us. She’s probably been told if she kills me she can go free, back to her family. Reality is, they’re already dead.

The woman lunges with a knife in hand and I dodge right, grabbing her arm and snapping it at the elbow. She opens her mouth to scream but I grab the knife and stab her in the throat, gargling ensuing. I pull out the knife and stab in the back on the neck then once again in the front, under her jaw. She collapses without another murmur.

“Good, good,” a voice whispers from behind. I step back in line, and Maestoso walks around. “But amateur,” he says. He speaks with no indication of when he’s going to start or stop. It’s eerie.

Maestoso holds up a hand to Lorenzo when he takes a step. “Sergio will do it,” he instructs, looking right at me. I step forward, brushing Maestoso’s cloak.

Two children are sitting against the wall, shivering, each holding a gun. This is the final test. It’s meant to be symbolic, killing our past selves. I walk up to one child, and squat, putting on a smile. The child holds the gun up at me, tears streaming down his face. The safety is on. He’s not holding it right.

Every person we kill has committed a crime. Murderers, rapists, con artists. This child must have done something to deserve this. They don’t fit into the ideal world, so they must go now. I’ll give them the easy way out. I’ll end their suffering.

I reach and take the gun out of the child’s hand with no resistance. I hold it to their head, still smiling. “I’ll save you,” I whisper. The child’s eyes seem to shine, a glimmer of hope flying past. For a moment, they believe they can escape. I grant the child’s wish and pull the trigger, fresh blood spraying my face.

“Next.”

The gun only had one bullet, so I toss it aside. The other child is staring at me, holding the gun to his own head. I nod. He tightens his grip, a few tense seconds passing before he kills himself. I stand and walk back in line.

“Good, good,” Maestoso rasps. He puts his hands together, then pulls them apart and repeats. He’s clapping... I don’t understand this man.

“Now, the final test.” He nods to behind us, so we both turn.

Standing there is Noemi, and another woman I don’t recognise. She must be the intended wife of Lorenzo. He told me about how he doesn’t like her. I feel the same about Noemi.

Both of the woman walk towards us at Maestoso’s command. Noemi has grown, just as I have. She is slightly taller, now only a few inches shorter than me. Her body isn’t as muscled as I remember. Her breasts are bigger and her face is longer. She stands in front of me until our noses almost touch. She smiles, and I smile back without thinking. Her eyes are dull green, something I never noticed.

“Curious.”

I almost forgot Maestoso was here.

“Face each other,” he instructs.

I turn to face Lorenzo as he faces me. If I focus on his face, I’ll be fine. He has blue eyes and dark hair. His nose is larger than mine, and his lips are fuller. He has dimples on his cheeks and... This isn’t working. I have to think of something else.

Maestoso leaves the room. Our instructor follows, telling us we are free to do anything in this room for the next two hours. He locks the door.

This is our gym and training area. It’s massive, the biggest room I’ve seen at this facility. There’s nothing else but equipment and a few desks here. I look away from Lorenzo, then side step so I can turn and walk to a bench.

I sit on a bench with weights below it, facing away from the group. I’ve calmed down from before, Maestoso being good at killing feelings with the way he moves. Noemi reaches from behind and puts her hands on my chest, pushing her bust into the back of my head.

“Hey,” she says. I don’t acknowledge her. “I’ve been thinking. We see each other a lot, but you don’t say anything. I think I know why. Wanna know?” I can remember the first time we met. She didn’t have this annoying habit then.

When I don’t react, she starts the rub my chest. I grab her hands, pull them above my head, and drop them to the side. I stand and start to walk away, stopped by Noemi wrapping her arms around me and forcing me back. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s been through the same things I have.

We’ve seen each other once a month since I was fourteen. She tells me things. At first, I felt bad her for, and consulted her. As soon as I realised she was trying to make me feel sympathy for her, I stopped reacting. I knew she was telling the truth and I’ve always listened to her, just not reacted or shown interest. I hate talking to other people.

Noemi picks me up, her strength catching me off guard. She tosses me into the floor, noticing my surprise. She then tumbles on top of me. “It’s because we haven’t done _this_ in a while,” she says, closing her eyes and kissing my neck.

I try to push her off, but she’s heavier than last time. I remember the feeling... Noemi rests her whole body on me. She meets my eyes and grins. “See, you’re excited,” she whispers, closing her eyes and kissing my lips. She hasn’t tried something like this since our first meeting.

I grip her torso and push up, able to get off my body. Noemi seems impressed by my strength, relaxing her body, making me drop her. She resumes kissing my neck. I won’t let her do this to me.

I roll so I’m on top, which seems to excite her. I then stand quickly and step away. Noemi persists, following me. I stop and turn, bumping up against her skin. It’s soft. She puts her arms over my shoulders and jumps onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I catch her, supporting her weight. She smiles, and kisses me again.

“Noemi...”

She mumbles something.

“Noemi, stop this,” I say, squatting so I can put her down. She opens her eyes but doesn’t let go.

“Stop _what_ ,” she smirks, pecking my cheek. “He’s busy over there, anyway.”

She nods to our right. I look over, and see Lorenzo and the other woman embracing each other. She’s lying on the ground while he is on top of her, thrusting his hips into her open legs with a fluid motion. Each thrust makes his buttocks tense and his back muscles flex.

Noemi whispers in my ear, “I know.” I keep watching Lorenzo, wishing I was the woman he was with. “I know what it’s like, seeing the man you love interested in someone else.”

She’s talking about me. She insists that she loves me, confessing it to me every time we meet. I’m someone special to her, a rock among the faceless people of the organisation. I feel the same way. I want to leave here. Lorenzo wants to stay.

“I want you, Sergio. I’ll leave with you.”

One time I told Noemi about my desire to leave. I haven’t told anyone but Lorenzo that. As he thrusts, I feel a strange detachment. He wants to stay here. He’s pleasuring that woman. Maybe that’s all he’s going to have. He doesn’t say that he loves me, he doesn’t agree with wanting to escape.

I look back to Noemi. She isn’t smiling, face devoid of expression. She’s serious. After all these years, Noemi is the one who’s listened to me, and been by my side. Maybe that’s all I need. She closes her eyes, not pressing forward. I stand, adjusting my grip around her behind.

I close my eyes and kiss her. She doesn’t kiss me back, turning her head away. I open my eyes to give an explanation. She’s crying, wet lines crossing her cheeks and meeting under her chin. I toss her up a little and move my hand so I can hold her with one arm. I use my other hand to wipe away her tears.

“Sergio,” she breathes on me, leaning her head in. “Sergio,” she says into my chest. She repeats my name and I sit on the floor, careful not to disrupt her. With both hands free, I hug her. Noemi squeezes my torso and sobs. I dare not look over at Lorenzo.

This continues for a few more seconds, until Noemi pulls her head back. She wipes her face and apologises. I tell her it’s not necessary.

“I’m only...” Noemi looks like she’s going to cry again, but closes her mouth and looks up, brushing under her eyes. “I’m only useful as a wife to you. They’ll... kill me if we don’t... connect. This isn’t _your_ final test.” I hadn’t considered that. It explains her persistence. I know she isn’t lying. I trust her.

“Ok. I’ll connect with you, Noemi,” I say. She shakes her head.

“It’s too late. They know.”

The organisation knows what? We’re under constant surveillance; we have no secrets.

“They know how you feel about him. He tried to protect you.”

They must have already decided to kill Noemi and Lorenzo. I’m angry. I can feel fire boiling up inside of me. I want to let it out, to burn Maestoso and this whole organisation. I’ll protect them, take them away from here.

Noemi leans in close. “I’m sorry,” she says, fresh tears on her face. I feel a needle in the back of my neck. My anger fades... My eyelids are heavy... Noemi is getting... blurry... I fall on her chest and...

* * *

My body is stiff. I open my eyes to the floor of our gym. I stand, and turn to see Lorenzo, Noemi and the other woman on the ground. They are tied up. Maestoso stands on the right, Astuzia on the left. There’s a desk with a gun on it.

I don’t have to be told what to do. I grab the gun, walk to the woman I don’t know, and shoot her in the head. I move on to Noemi. She’s looking at the ground, so I squat. I kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll save you,” I whisper, soft enough that only she can hear me. I kill my intended wife.

I rise and move over to Lorenzo. He’s looking down as well, so I get low again. “I get it now, brother. I’ll save you, too.” I kiss the top of his head, for as long as I can, then press the gun against my kiss. I kill my first love.

I stand up and place the gun back on the desk. It’s just me now. Maestoso is pleased, saying I knew I had it in me. I won’t show them emotion. I’ll carry the weight of Noemi and Lorenzo to the ideal world. I’ll show them a world without killing. That is my destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven/Sergio is Meraviglia Fuoco.


End file.
